


Incentivized

by starkraving



Category: The Bright Sessions (Podcast)
Genre: Basically, Dub-con themes, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gaslighting, Gen, Manipulation, Power Dynamics, Power Imbalance, Stockholm Syndrome, and ellie wadsworth turning it on him, from both the nature of damien's power to begin with
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-09-23 01:20:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9634229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkraving/pseuds/starkraving
Summary: Hiatus AU:  Ellie Wadsworth is going to change the world one way or another... and Damien is definitely some kind of way.





	

The room they keep him in is very different than any other rooms in the AM. Designed explicitly for him to her specifications. The walls are padded, but dark blue, not asylum white. The floor – temperature controlled gray tile. The ceiling – the same padded blue, lights recessed into the ceiling behind Plexiglas.  Bolted to the wall – a bookshelf. Beside it – a bed bolted to the floor. On bed are a small pile of folded paperbacks, well used, worn with handling and age. Taken from their home in a messy studio apartment many miles from here. One of them (a copy of _The Hobbit_ specifically) is torn in half. There’s blood on second edition of _The Poisonwood Bible_ on the floor.

There are scratches on the interior of the observation glass.  

There is a single starburst of old blood on the jamb of industrial metal door to the left.

Bolted to the floor, facing the observation glass is a single steel chair.

Robert Douglas Gorham, AKA “Damien”, is seated in the chair.

He’s not actually a very big person. That surprised the Director only for the moment it took her to remember how Joanie talked about him. Now, she’s familiar with him. Dark hair, a little wavy, prone to curling at the ends and getting in his eyes. Long fingers, blunted and calloused at the tips – a detail notable only because there was a violin in his apartment. Wiry. Currently sitting slouched, knees wide, wearing the same jeans and T-shirt they captured him in. Laundered of course, but there’s a tear in the right knee. Good jaw-line. Olive complexion seems pale under the florescent lights. He’s just _staring_ at her.

It makes her think – quite inappropriately really – of a trip to the zoo when she was a child. Seeing the lion enclosure. She’s not sure why. Could just be the fact of his captivity. Could be something about the primal desperation that’s coming through the glass from him, like radiation through the walls. She feels it under her nailbeds. In her belly. Like cancer. Or the roots of arousal. Like vertigo.

“Hello, Robert.” Director Wadsworth takes a seat in the single armchair in the observation room, facing the glass, mirror to him. She sets her note book down. “How are we today?”

“Let me out of here.”

“No.” She braces for the backlash. She feels it slide into her like fingers gliding along the inside of her skull. She rolls her shoulders a little, breathes in deeply. “I can feel you want me to. So, of course, I want to let you go, but I can’t. Only the security personnel outside can do that and once I leave this room I have a ten-minute quarantine. _Plenty_ of time to shake your influence by now. I’ve improved. You know that so please, calm down.”

His eyes seem… magnetic somehow. Does he want her to look him in the eye?

“Just let me go,” he repeats, slower, through his teeth.

Her whole body throbs internally, tightening around her bones.

“I can feel how angry you are, how much you want this, but you need to get a hold of yourself, Damien.” A beat. “ _Robert_. I know it’s frustrating and confusing not being able to use your power to get what you want but after a two months of these sessions...” She shakes her head. “You should know better.”

“Let. Me. _Out of here_!”

 “Stop _yelling,_ Robert.”

“THAT’S NOT MY NAME!”

“Damien, I – hmm.” She holds up a single finger, pursing her lips, steadying. She lowers her hand and sighs. “See that’s not going to work. Calming down and listening to me – that will help you. It’s the only thing that will help.”

At this third rebuff something gives slightly, almost physically, inside her captive. He drops his head, runs a hand over his face and then looks back up at her over the top of his knuckles. He seems tired, the intensity of focus temporarily gone fuzzy at the edges. He breathes in slowly. She monitors the very, very slight hitch in his throat before he drops his hand and speaks again.

“I don’t want to be here anymore.”

“I know. Of course I know that. But you are here. Your options are limited now and believe me or not, I do want to help you. You must know that’s true. You can feel it, can’t you? Beneath how much you want me to want you to leave… that I want you to stay with us?”

“Yeah. Yeah I can feel that. I know what it really is though.”

“Oh?”

“It’s the same when someone wants to fuck me. You don’t want me. You want something from me.”

“Huh.” Ellie tilts her head and folds her hands on her knee, sitting back in the chair. “That feels similar to you? Sexual desire and desire for aid or services?”

Damien just stares at her through the glass for a moment, hunched over, elbows braced against his knees. He blinks, dark eyes confused and – not so faintly – disgusted.

“ _No_. If someone wanted me to, like, open a jar for them that would not feel the same as them wanting to fuck me, _obviously_. I’m saying whatever it is you want… feels like that.”

“I’m aware that you can’t identify specific desires in others, only feel an indication of it. I’m telling you: what I want is for you to work with me, use your powers to recruit other atypicals. Obviously we would love to replicate your ability. Perhaps that’s what you’re feeling – that on some level I want to use the extraction process on you.”

Damien flinches very slightly. There in the corner of his mouth.

“But you also know you’re too rare to risk extraction. You know you’re safe from that.”

“Just let me go.”

“I want to. But I can’t.”

“Please.” His hands knot briefly and release. “ _Please_ , just let me go.”

“Is that really all you want? To be free? You want to go back to your life before? Alone? No chance of being properly understood by another human being for the rest of your life. That’s what you want?”

Damien mouths something.

“What was that? Speak clearly.”

“Mark understood.”

“Ah yes, Mark. The man you kidnapped. The one who gutted you for your power then walked away from it, literally. Yes, a man who can shrug off your ability must _really_ understand. The constant vigilance. The _fear_ of people feverish to make you happy. The underlying _threat_ there.” She tilts he head. “Did it unsettle him? I know it must have. He must have been so eager to get at least thirty-three feet away from you, immediately, the moment he could afford it –”

“I know what you’re doing.”

Ellie waits.

“You want me to _want_ to stay.”

“Yes. Of course. Though, _currently_ , I want to walk you out of the building and let you go free. But I really would like it if you’d simply stay with us.”

“I don’t want to stay with you. With any of you. You can’t do this to people.”

“Don’t be dense, Robert. Of course we can.”

“This is fucking _wrong_.”

“Coming from thief and serial abuser that seems somewhat disingenuous.”

“I didn’t hurt anyone. It’s not my fault people give me what I want.”

“Oh, but that’s not true and we know it. Sure, on some level people will always be nice to you, give way to you, sure. But you don’t have to take things from people. You don’t have to push specifics… but you do. You choose to take advantage of those _inebriated_ by your power. There’s a _word_ for people like that.”

“I don’t do it on purpose! Not all the –! Wait. _Fuck_ you. You don’t get to lecture me. You want me to use it to actually kidnap people.”

“Is it kidnapping if they want to come? Is it kidnapping if they want to stay?”

“So when I use my power it’s fucked. When you do it though, that’s fine.”

“It is. Because what I do, I do for national security. For the greater good and advancement of the human race. What _you_ do, Robert, you do for nothing but own petty interests. Because you’re _scared_ and lonely and you don’t know how to _function_ without the very thing you so passionately complain about. Honestly, if you really wanted it, you would have figured out a work around.”

“I _can’t_ turn it off. That’s not how it works.”

 “You can learn if you’re properly motivated.”

A flicker of fear on his face. “What does that mean?”

“Robert, you need to know there are other Directors who want you at their facilities. There is a vote going on to have you removed from my care and into a more… high security outfit. I lost Mark because of you and there is now doubt as to my competence keeping high value targets. Ironically, this is going to hurt _you_ more than I. If I cannot show some progress here, you will see what real ruthlessness looks like.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not. I can’t. Not here with you wanting me to tell the truth. I want you to want to work with me. Others… they think your kind of power can be knuckled under. Brute force. It may interest you to know most of my counterparts in other facilities are men. Their theory is if we put you in enough pain, you’ll deeply want to do anything we tell you. I personally believe this is true, but the least effective course of action.”

“That’s not… You _can’t_ –”

“I prefer cooperation. It’s long-term. You won’t… deteriorate as quickly if we’re partners.”

“Are you fucking serious?”

“Very fucking serious.”

“So do what you say or be tortured by these theoretically worse other guys. That’s your sell.”

“Yes.”

“I can’t help any of you. I don’t _want_ to help any of you. Not really –”

“You will. You will want whatever makes it _stop_ , Robert. Survival instinct is very, very powerful. My colleagues will make you survive them. I don’t want that.” Wadsworth gestures to the walls. “You think this is useful? Sitting here? Talking through intercoms and quarantine walls? It’s not. You working with us? Working _with_ me? Oh! There are so many things we could accomplish. So much we could circumnavigate. That is useful. I _like_ useful.”

“Sounds like you want my power for yourself.”

“It doesn’t matter what I want. What _you_ want is actually the most important thing here. So, why don’t you tell me what you’d like? And don’t say ‘freedom’ because it’s unimaginative. Forget where you are for a moment. Imagine I have all the resources of my vast government agency at my fingertips and I would like to use it to…  motivate you. How do you make it benefit you?”

Damien says nothing for a long time, just stares at the floor.

“Can you look for others like me?”

“Rob – _Damien_.” She sits forward. “We already are.” He lifts his head and she can feel it, the pulse of it – want. So deep it aches in her and she has to exhale slowly around the sudden profound knot of… grief? No. Something else. Never mind it now. “Would you like to meet them when we find them?”

Damien looks away again. His hands wring slightly, his thumb rubbing circles against the back of his opposite hand.

“You just gonna keep me in this room forever?”

“No. We’d need you out in the world actually. But if you’re asking where home would be… well, we can make better accommodations here. We have all your things from your apartment if you’d like them back. We can talk scheduling.”

 “You… can’t _hurt_ me. None of that invasive shit you did with Mark.”

“Other than basic check-ups and, perhaps, neural scans, I cannot imagine needing invasive processes with you. In fact, most medical processes will be avoided on the simple basis your power is too… volatile when your mental state is altered.” She waits, seeing how that lands then, just to be sure: “I don’t want to hurt you. You know that, right?”

“Just because you don’t get a  _kick_ out of it, doesn’t mean you wouldn’t do it.”

“Maybe. But if you don’t give me a reason to hurt you… then I won’t.”

“I think it wouldn’t bother you to hurt me.”

“Maybe not. But again, I wouldn’t do that needlessly.”

“You sound like Doctor Bright.”

“Doctor Bright threw you under a bus, Damien. If I’m going to hurt you, it will be pre-negotiated and your own fault.”

“Jesus. It’ll be my fault if you fuck me up because I don’t follow your orders. Really?”

“Those are the rules. Yes.”

“Fuck you.”

“You lived in Queens for a while, right?”

His breathing hitches. She waits a moment, studying his face, the tiny expressions behind his attempt to be calm. The little things that get through – faint panic, shock, pain.

“You know, after we figured out your real name, it wasn’t hard to dig things up.” Wadsworth scrolls through her phone. “Honestly, you were a bit sloppy when you were younger.” She opens a video file, no audio, and moves to press it against the glass so he can see and she can watch him lean forward, squint, then go pale. “If you ask anyone there, it’s interesting how they phrase what happened. All of them insist, over and over that they didn’t do anything wrong. You… well, you didn’t _ask_ them to do it. They always got confused about this, but the consensus was their participation was wanted.”

“Nothing happened.”

“Right. Because you stopped it, just barely by the looks of it.”

“Nothing. _Happened_.”

“Let me guess: alcohol doesn’t mix well with your ability.” She turns the video around, watching it, face carefully neutral. “You didn’t know that, of course. Why would you? You were, what, sixteen? Was that your first time in a bar or –?”

Damien drops his face briefly into his hands, just as quickly dropping his hands and sitting back in his seat, agitation in every line of his body.

“You think that means something? You think I care?”

“When did you realize your powers weren’t working correctly? When the third person tried to kiss you or when the barkeep had your arms pinned to the bar?”

Damien comes to his feet. “Shut up!”

She tilts her head.

“ _Nothing_ happened. I told them to back off. They backed off. I didn’t lose control. You don’t know shit!”

“I’m not mocking you.”

“Yes you fucking are. You wouldn’t have brought it up if you weren’t.”

“I’m pointing out that your power can’t protect you, Damien. Not from me. Not from my colleagues. Not even from the public if enough people figure you out. I’m saying I’m on your side here. How many people can you list who will say that?”

“I am not going to –”

“I have a team of telepaths willing to work with you. All immune to your power. You remember? The team that brought you in. There are more just like them. Imagine. A conversation with no pretenses. People like you who want to talk to you, work with you. Forget everything else… wouldn’t you want that?”

“So you have a team of atypical thugs to keep me in line even if the rest of your mundanes lose your minds around me. No thanks.”

“You forget. You’re in my head, but I can feel you now. I know you want that.”

“You don’t know shit about me.”

“I know you’re a survivor, Damien. Since you were thirteen, you’ve survived, learned, all on your own. I admire that. So don’t be stupid now and stand on principles you don’t even believe in. Be one of ours. Joan lied to you: We can be reasonable. We can help you. It could be a good life. Don’t you want that?”

“You’re… such a liar.”

“Not right now I’m not. And, again, I can feel what you want. You should try to reel that in, honestly.”

“I don’t trust you.”

“I don’t expect you to. But I haven’t harmed you. I’m speaking with you honestly as I can. I’m trying to make this easy on you and I don’t do that for many people.” She considers his response, then adds, “You interest me. Try to understand the _value_ in your continuing to interest me.”

“So you’ll kill me when I bore you?”

“No, Damien. When you stop being useful to me.”

Fear then, a little shocked clearly the bald-facedness of her threat.

“You’re stone fucking cold, lady.”

“Don’t get me wrong. I could come to like you. People generally find me an amiable person.” She sits forward. “But make no mistake, you cost me Mark Bryant who cost me Joan Bryant. So that's two high value people you've lost me. If the math does not level at the end of this equation, Damien, I will cut my losses and I don't  care how it hurts you.” She sits back slowly, picking her notebook up from the armchair. “Do we understand each other?”

He doesn’t answer. He’s staring at the floor, visibly trying to process what’s happening.

“Answer me, Damien. Do you understand me?

 “Yes, I understand you.”

“Then are you going to cooperate or not?”

“I… Okay.

“Okay.” She uncaps her pen. “Let’s talk logistics.”

 

* * *

 

“You lied to me.”

Ellie looks up from her paperwork and finds that Damien is in her office unattended. She glances toward the office door, query in her stare but as far as she can determine none of his security team is with him, meaning he’s slipped their leash again just to come annoy her without supervision. This, unfortunately, is happening more and more often. He’s wearing a nice jacket and a wool cap, still raw in the face. She can smell mud on his boots.

“So you’re back from the retrieval I take it?”

“Don’t change the subject.”

She sighs and rubs her temples. “Not today, Damien. I’m not in the mood.” A beat. Then the pressure relieves just behind her teeth. “Good boy.”

“The other Directors don’t know what I am. You told them that I’m an empathic psychic.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I want you here with me, not lobotomized and chemically comatose in another facility. So I told them your powers were greatly exaggerated and you’re simply extremely empathic and, possibly, a little telepathic as well but we’re not sure. It’s interesting enough to warrant study, not enough to bring real interest.”

“You told them I’m an _empath_?” His nose wrinkles a little.

“Yes.” She rolls her eyes. “It was very difficult to keep a straight face while I did it. You should appreciate that.”

“Why would I appreciate the fact you’re lying about me so you can keep me here to yourself?”

“Did I or did I not just say ‘lobotomized’?”

“I don’t have to be grateful that you’re protecting me just so you can use me.”

“You don’t have to be, but it goes a long way keeping me happy with your performance.” She puts her pen down and gives Damien her full attention now. He immediately tenses a little, shoulders coming up very slightly. “I make your life easier when I like you, Damien. It’s basic give and take. I’ve told you to work on it.”

“I don’t think most people see human interaction and a series of value exchanges.”

“Maybe not, but we’re not most people.”

Damien forces a smile. One of those fake charming ones. “C’mon. You don’t like me?”

“I like you well enough.”

He stops smiling. “Harsh.”

“Your performance in the field is exemplary. Our numbers are up. Bringing you in on the follow-up interviews has gone a long way to increase volunteer pools. There are a dozen new programs up and running. Atypical consult has doubled.” She tilts her head, noting that his posture becomes increasingly withdrawn as she goes on. “Like it or not, people are coming and staying with us because of you. You should feel good about that.”

“I should feel good about scamming people into joining your evil X-Men club?”

“You bring them into the first meeting. Our resources and aid do the rest. No one needs much convincing beyond that.”

“You’re literally holding me hostage.”

“Fine. Be dramatic. Is there a reason you felt the need to break into my office for this conversation?”

“I dunno. Because no one else knows the score? My goon squad hates me and everyone else is a norm.”

“So you were lonely?”

His face gets very obviously hot. “ _No_. I’m angry.”

“You don’t feel angry. You feel bored.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m angry.”

Wadsworth pushes her chair back from her desk. “Come over here. Stop cowering by the door.”

Damien hesitates… then moves to circle her desk. Warily. He stops just out of arms reach, hands in his pockets, chin lowered slightly, body angled slightly away from her. Defensive. Always defensive. She makes a point of staring at his still muddy boots, then everything else before looking him in the eyes again. He, of course, doesn’t meet her gaze by then. He keeps his eyes on the carpet between them, somewhere between his boots and her Jimmy Choos.  

“Look at me.”

He does, but only just.

“You keep breaking into my office, despite what I’ve told you before. You’re vexing me again, Damien.”

“That’s because you’re doing weird shit,” he snaps. “What’s next? You want me to start influencing your bosses? Is that’s what you’ve been building toward?”

“You know that I will let you know what you need to know, when you need to know it. Poking around without my input is a good way to end up outed to men much crueler than I. I’ve told you this a hundred times.” She shakes her head, gentling her voice a little when he looks confused. “You don’t have to vex me to get my attention you know. I’m not Joan or any of the others. You can tell me when you want something. I can listen.”

“Are you kidding? I want to leave. You know that. You’ll never do that.”

“No. I won’t, but I can accommodate other wants.”

“I just want to leave.”

“No, Damien, I think you just want attention, but you can’t seem to ask for it like an adult.”

“What? I’m not… I’m not doing this for _attention_. I’m trying to tell you –”

She ignores him and stands up. He manages one step back before she has her hand on his shoulder and pivots, pushing so he staggers and falls back, the small of his back hitting the edge of her desk. His palms slap down against the table top, disturbing a few manila folders before he freezes there, braced against her desk with her hand on his shoulder.

“What are you doing?” he manages, finally.

She tilts her head. “Is that not what you wanted?”

“ _No_.”

She considers. “Are you sure?”

Then she hooks her fingers lazily into the front of his jeans, so casually it takes him a second to register what she’s done. He freezes. She listens to the slight hitch in his breathing and studies how his thoughts seem to collapse in. She can feel, very obviously, that he wants her to let go of him… but not enough to really compel it. Not, she thinks, that he’s capable of compelling her anymore. (Being too scared to compel her after all this time.)

“Well?” she says.

For a telling second, he just stares, _terrified_. Then his mind snaps the other way, like the hackles of an animal rising. He knocks her hand off his shoulder, but she’s already stepping back, straightening her suit jacket and sighing. He shoves away from her desk, retreating back toward the door where he stands there, confused, hands almost up like she’s going to attack him. She takes her seat again.

“I’m getting sick of fielding these outbursts, Damien. If you want to talk to me, then put something on my calendar like everyone else. You know I will prioritize your concerns.”

“What the _fuck_ is your damage?”

She blinks slowly at him. “Excuse me?”

“What you just fucking did! You can’t –!”

“What did I do?”

“Fucking – you just –!”

“What?”

“You came onto me!”

“Did I?” She thinks about it, then shrugs and picks her pen back up, resuming paperwork. “I figured that was one of your tantrums. You need to stop projecting these petty wants simply to make a point. It’s immature and unprofessional and I’m not particularly moved by any of it. I don’t expect you to follow code given our arrangement, but that’s the only leeway I’m giving you.”

“ _I didn’t do that_!”

She sighs. “I don’t have time for this.”

“Stop trying to convince me I did that.”

“I’m not convincing you of anything.”

He struggles visibly with what to say next. “You’re crazy.”

“Astutely deducted. I’ll take your professional opinion into account. Please return to your security detail or I’ll have to re-instate red rules and I know how you hated those.” Damien whispers something like ‘oh my god’ but she ignores it and goes on. “No more unsupervised wanderings. There’s no accounting for what might happen when you’re away from your team.”

“Was… was that a threat?”

“Yes. I just threatened to reinstate red rules. Listen when I speak.”

“Not that! The second part!”

She gives him an openly irritated look now. “What second part?”

“Oh don’t be dense! You just threatened to do that again if I don’t stay with my thug squad.”

“Do what again?”

She monitors with interest, the shift in his facial expression, the exact moment when the doubt clicks into some previously un-filled section of his mind where – for some reason – he’d removed the possibility of something like this from the table of possible scenarios. There’s a word, a sentence, maybe an accusation on his tongue. She can just barely see the shape of it as it started to form but now he swallows it, literally, and shakes his head. Satisfaction lives somewhere in the way Damien shrinks under her gaze – physically and psychically.

“Never mind. I’ll… just go back to the others.”

“See that you do. It’s obvious you need to stay around people you can’t influence. Your control is still mediocre at best.”

That’s not true. But _uncertainty_ is essential.

She ignores him visibly until he leaves. Then she waits another full minute before she exhales loudly and sits forward to massage her aching temples. Fear hurts, she’s found. Damien’s fear that is. It snaps through the brain in a chemical firestorm of sympathetic mirroring and then leaves the synapses aching in the aftermath. Or that’s how it feels anyway. Like the roadwork in her skull’s been shorted out. She pulls open a desk drawer for a water and some Aspirin.

“Brat,” she murmurs as she takes the pills.

 

* * *

 

Working with psychics for years gives you mental discipline and sensitivity through proximity alone. To say that Ellie Wadsworth has picked up a few tricks would be an understatement at this point, but what’s she’s found over the years is that will power and mental organization are the weapons of the telepathic trade and when dealing with any A-Class you need to have both. Sensing a telepathic field – crucial for the protection of secrets. Obscuring your thoughts – necessary.

It would surprise most to know that she thinks in Mandarin most of the time.

“Can you stop thinkin’ in Chinese or whatever? It’s confusing.”

“Stop listening to my thoughts, Agent Clove. I’ve told you I can tell when you do it, so desist.”

“Sorry. Force’a habit.”

“Forgiven. Not excused. Report.”

“The others are getting a bit antsy again,” says Clove.

Wadsworth sighs. “Is it interpersonal or biological?”

“Both.” Clove readjusts her ponytail and sits back in her seat. Something in her faded Tennessee drawl makes all her debriefs seem comfortable. “Yeah, Damien’s a cuss and it doesn’t help that his brain feels like pins and needles. Jakes and Juke keep thinking about… well, they’re not nice boys to begin with and if I wasn’t around to keep ‘em in line, I think they’d take their job a little too far.”

“That’s fine. It’s why I put them on this detail.”

“That and their actual telepathic cognition is real low. So they can’t pick up on the fact you’re keepin’ secrets.”

“They’re also both capable of dislocating Mr. Gorham's arm if he gets clever in the field. And you’re the most powerful telepath in our employ so _you_ can keep _them_ in line if need be.”

“I can indeed.”

“Do you have concerns?”

“Hmm, maybe. Bait seems a bit depressed lately. I mean, he’s a fucking downer 100% of the time usually, but that’s not unusual given his situation. He just seems… more listless than usual. Doesn’t respond to any of my usual quippy banter and he usually eats it up.”

“Is he a risk to himself?”

“Any more than usual? Nah. He’s not there yet, but there is a ‘yet’. I’d recommend some kind of pick-me-up before he gets too far down the rabbit-hole. You know, presuming you like Bait enough to care about that kind of thing.”

“Why wouldn’t I care about his psychological well-being?”

“I’m sure you do, within a standard deviation, ma’am. Just let me know the cut off for this one.”

“I trust your judgement implicitly on this matter, Clove. It’s why you’re on his security detail to begin with. I don’t have any immediate need to risk him as an asset, so do your best. Keep him invested.”

“Alright. Just hold the course then? Be big sisterly and such?”

“Yes. Jakes and Juke are racist bullies. You’re the one he relies on and trusts to keep him safe. Keep it that way.”

“Alright, but fair warning: I’m getting a little attached. I sure as hell hope he’s not burnable. If he is, okay, no problem, but just saying I’ll be a little bummed.” Clove gives a hapless little shrugs. “What can I say? He’s likable when you get used to him and… well, for a mind-controlling sociopath he’s kind of harmless.”

“Precision of language, Clove. He’s not a mind-controller or sociopath. Furthermore, sociopathy is not… accurate in clinical term anymore.”

Clove smiles. “I know. He just… has the vibe. Ya know?”

 “I know. I suspect it’s why you like him.”

Clove gauges her mood a moment before asking. “Do _you_ like him?”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Wadsworth stops entering things into Excel to give Clove her attention. “Damien forces false intimacy with everyone he knows by compelling secrets from them. He victimizes people in the same breath that he becomes their most intimate confidante. There are two common defense mechanisms to that: Hate him and reject the violation. Or self-deception and acceptance. Decide he’s your friend.”

“He tried that with you?”

“In the beginning, yes. He was hoping for blackmail or sympathy. It didn’t work of course.”

“So you hate him?”

“No. I said that I like him well enough. He’s transparent to me. I neither hate or like him particularly.”

“Well, that makes one of us.”

“Your work is appreciated, Agent. You’re dismissed.”

 

* * *

 

“It worked.”

“Yes, it did.”

“You got what you wanted. You’re the boss now right?”

“This is government, Damien. ‘Boss’ is a relative term, but for my purposes… yes. I am.”

“That’s good.”

“It is.”

Wadsworth picks up the scotch and takes drink. Just a taste, then rolls the rest of the amber warmth in the glass. The giant bay window before her overlooks a massive sprawl of mountain lake and forest. Promotion has a few… aesthetic perks obviously. It pleases her more than she’ll admit. Aesthetics are more important to her than she’d like to admit, but indulgence is an important aspect to healthy human psychology.

Speaking of which…

She doesn’t look at Damien when she holds the scotch out to him. “Celebrate a little?”

“I don’t drink.”

“Because you need control. I know. There’s just us.” She angles the glass toward him a little more. “So relax.”

He hesitates… but she’s insisting, so he buckles like always and takes the glass. Then, because she’s watching, he drinks the whole thing and puts it down empty on the desk. He coughs a little. She can tell he hated every swallow but doesn’t want to admit it to her. Stupid of course. He self-admittedly has no taste for the stuff much less a tolerance and what’s she’s drinking is closer to cleaning solution than good scotch. He coughs again, grimacing.

“Jesus,” he says as she takes the glass back and pours another.

“Give it a minute.”

“A minute? My face is on fire.”

“Light weight,” she mutters, handing him the glass again with another finger of scotch in it.

He hesitates again, tries for joking. “Trying to get me drunk?”

“Obviously.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s been two years in the making and everything is laid out before me now. I have my path, clear as day, between point A and B and nothing can distract from it. For once, for a moment, I can stop fighting and breathe because we’ve made it. It’s a _beautiful_ feeling, Damien.” She takes a drink of the scotch, a real drink, and sighs. “Forgive me if I enjoy it with company.”

She offers the glass again. He takes it from her hand and drinks… about two mouthfuls before shaking his head and handing it back.

“Yeah. Nope.” He’s red in the face already. “I’m done.”

Wadsworth takes the glass and pats the space on the desk beside her. He moves to join her, leaning against the heavy solid oak table, arms folded, admiring the spectacular view of the sunset already gone down behind the mountains, the sky dimming behind the distant blue slope of the horizon. They stand and enjoy the silence for a while, the mutual shared accomplishment.

She can feel a warm…  something at the edge of her mental awareness, like a telepath poking but without the precise needle-point of entry that telepathic power has. Damien’s power feels like… heat coming in from an open window. As the alcohol works into his system, she can feel the usually tight reins of control he keeps around her begin to get fuzzy. He sighs and rolls his neck.

“How’s your face?”

“Jesus,” he says again, eyes closed, head fallen back. “Being drunk feels weird.”

“Bad?”

“Nah. Just… weird.” He smirks a little, waving a hand without opening his eyes. “Wobbly.”

“You’ve done a very good job, Damien. None of this would have been possible without you.”

He laughs. The noise is throatier than usual. He drawls, “I think that’s a lie.”

“An exaggeration for courtesy sake. But it would not have been possible on this timeline. You’ve moved things up very nicely for me and I appreciate that.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“I’m giving you a compliment, Damien. It was good work.”

“You literally never tell me I do a good job.”

“Unlike the rest of the world, I only tell you ‘good job’ when you’ve actually done something of merit. You have, so I’m acknowledging it.” She gauges his reaction without appearing to do so, watching him frown at the window, processing her words. She waits… then reaches out and puts a hand on his shoulder. “Damien. I mean it. You did a good a job.”

He _looks_ at her. “Uh… thanks.”

He’s drunk so she can feel the warm blur of his consciousness very clearly – the depth and the intensity, the _nerve_ she’s struck. So Wadsworth knows she’s safe when she moves her hand from his shoulder to the back of his head, gently sliding her fingers through his hair to the top of his skull and settling there. He shivers, surprise kicking through his system for a blurry moment, reorienting and bending. His eyes close. She can feel part of him _reject_ the touch, reject her, reject their history, the context of this touch in this room after all these years…

But that part of him is very far away and what Damien actually does is lean over and lay his head on her shoulder.

Ellie does not give any outward sign of victory, just continues to admire the view outside, idly running her fingertips through the warm, dark curls now weighty against her shoulder, thoughts heavy with happiness beneath her palm. Damien sighs when she draws her nails very gently across his scalp and turns his face slightly into her bicep. She must, with great discipline, keep the swell of satisfaction from the configuration of her thoughts. Not that it would matter in this moment but…

She smiles a little and drinks her scotch.

“We’re going to change the world,” she says. “Just give me time.”

 

_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> If you've read this before and think it was a bit shorter, you'd be right; I added to it. Mostly because Ellie is scary and I love her scaring bullies like Damien.


End file.
